A Scarecrow's Memoir
by Raxi-Jest
Summary: I am going to be writing a collection of short stories from Jonathan Crane's life stretching from the bullied child to the super-criminal Scarecrow. "They scream, and they cry, much as your doing now."


**AUTHOR'S NOTE:  
****This is basically going to be a collection of short stories featuring Jonathan's development from the bullied child to super-criminal Scarecrow. There will be quite big gaps between some of the ages but I will try to make it at clear as possible to avoid confusion.**

-1-

The Georgian sun beamed down on the ground, as the bell rang for lunch. The sound of quick and excited footsteps of children running out to the playground filled the air along with with the loud babble of chatter.

Jonathan Crane walked over to the far side of the playground and settled under a small tree, it's leaves providing a canopy of cool shade to protect against the blistering heat of the sun. He pushed his glasses further up his nose as he looked across the playground, Granny Keeny refused to buy him a smaller pair so they were always slipping down.

The girls were skipping around and playing "families", their carefree voices carried by the wind. The boys were playing football, making ridiculous celebrations as they dived to the floor, their laughter loud and obnoxious.

Jonathan pressed his back further against the trunk of the tree, pulling a book out of his stained and worn satchel. The other children had long since given up on asking him to join in their games. Every time they had, he had politely refused, trying it ignore their disapproving faces. Granny Keeny had always told him that games only manifested the mind, that it warped a person's view of reality. He didn't know if he could play their games, even if he tried. His co-ordination was awful, his long limbs providing him no help.

Jonathan sighed as he struggled to find his page in his book. He had always taken extra care and pride when handling them, and never folded over a page because of the creases it caused. He had always loved books, secretly renting them out of the local library and hiding them under his pillow from his Granny for years.

His books enabled him to transport himself somewhere far away from Georgia, somewhere where he was the one playing football with the other boys. Somewhere where his skinny body was fulled out, his eye sight better and his scruffy orange-brown hair neat and styled. Somewhere where he had a loving family and friends to play with. His mind drifted as his fingers absent mindlessly fumbled with the pages of his book.

A sharp pain in the centre of his face snapped him out of his day dream. His nose was throbbing and when his fingers went to explore the damage he realised he was having a nose bleed. He looked around to seek out the source of his damage, furiously blinking his eyes to stop the instinctive tearing.

No surprise, the group of boys who were playing football were openly laughing at him - minus the football, which Jonathan deduced was the source of the pain.

"Woopsies! Didn't see you there Ichabod" said Bo Griggs, the biggest of all the boys, earning a roar of laughter from his friends.

Jonathan scowled at the name, books may have given him a distraction from every day life but they also gave him one of his most hated nicknames. The Legend of Sleepy Hollow had been assigned to his literacy class and it hadn't taken long for the other children to realise he shared a lot of physical features with the main protagonist, along with the last name Crane.

Jonathan narrowed his eyes, and tried to turn back to his book, a sleeve held up to his nose. In order to get to the school toilets he would have to pass his tormentors so he made do with staunching the flow with his sleeve. Catching sight of his book, Jonathan almost screamed aloud his frustration.

The blood from his nose had dripped onto the pages of his book from when he had first got hit, the text contaminated by a myriad of crimson splatters that were sure to stain. He used his spare hand to flip over the pages, to see how far the blood had soaked through.

His head snapped up to the sound if approaching footprints, his hands instinctively tensing up, only to be met with the approaching smug face of Bo Griggs, surrounded by his usual group of mindless brutes.

Sensing danger, Jonathan immediately put his book to the side and sprung up on his feet, ignoring the rushing sensation in his head due to the heat.

"For the last time, I said pass me the ball Ichabod" snarled Bo, his voice laced with threat.

Jonathan blinked like rabbit in the headlights, he had the tendency to zone out and block out his surroundings when concentrating on something which is obviously what had happened here. How long Bo had been talking to him he didn't know, but it was bound to end in trouble. Not that they needed an excuse to torment him. Being the smartest in the year on top of his skinny frame and tattered clothing made him the perfect victim of bullying.

"I don't know where your ball is" Jonathan replied coldly, struggling to keep his trembling voice even.

"Well the last time I saw it, it was bouncing off your ugly face, so where did it go?" demanded Bo, getting ever closer. Jonathan's eyes darted around his surroundings, praying to get a glimpse of the damned white ball, but to no avail. He sighed and turned back to Bo.

"I don't know, I was to busy coping with my bleeding nose to pay attention to where your ball went" he replied, a little to much challenge in his voice.

Bo took a step closer, his eyebrows furrowing into a frown. Jonathan pushed his glasses back up as they had slid down down, trying to remain defiant and resisting the urge to run away.

"I don't think I like it when you speak to me like that Jonny boy" he mocked, continuing to advance on Jonathan, rolling up his sleeves like a cliche action film. Jonathan gulped and looked for an escape, for the rest of Bo's friends had begun to circle him. Bo must have seen his darting eyes because he suddenly lunged forward, grabbing Jonathan by his shirt and pressed him against the tree.

"Now, say sorry and we'll leave you alone" he snarled, his grip unyielding.

Jonathan just stared him straight in the eyes, despite his still aching nose and his shirt collar digging into his neck. He knew that he would be hurt now no matter what he said. Bo was just trying to humiliate him further by making him apologise and he wouldn't give him that satisfaction, plus as far he could see he had no reason to apologise anyway.

Bo scowled and proceeded to pummel his fists brutally into Jonathan's skinny frame, landing punch after punch onto his torso until Jonathan was pleading for him to let him go, the tears streaming down his dirtied face. Bo looked at him in disgust and threw him on the ground, not a hint of remorse in his face, walking off to leave Jonathan in the dirt. Jonathan liked it that way, if there was anything that he hated more than the the people like Bo, it was the people who pitied him.

Jonathan rolled over and curled up, his breath strained and ragged as he clutched his quickly bruising stomach. He didn't know how long he laid there for, but he was sure that he was missing his lessons. He sat up with a cry of pain, and searched for his beloved book.

It was covered in dirt and some of the pages had been ripped out. Bo had obviously been stood on it as he attacked Jonathan. Jonathan scooped up the pages and put them in his satchel which had thankfully been spared with a sigh. That was another book he couldn't return to the library in good condition. He stood up with great effort, breathing heavily through his mouth.

He looked at the school, a sickening feeling in his stomach made worse by the physical damage. He would not be returning to his lessons today he thought. He couldn't stand to see the look in the other children's eyes as they took in his bloodied nose and dirty face. It's not like missing a lesson would effect his consistently good grades anyway.

He rushed out of the school grounds as quickly as he could despite his burning body, not wanting to be caught. His dear old Granny would probably ignore the bruises as she always did, as if they would disappear if she didn't acknowledge them - or maybe she just didn't care.

The houses blurred as Jonathan sluggishly walked home, his mind racing. It wasn't until the houses blurred into the familiar fields near his home, that he started to feel safe.__

One day, he thought. _One day._


End file.
